


Baseball and Inhalers

by lillupon



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Coming Out, Denial of Feelings, Fluff, Jealous Bucky Barnes, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 15:56:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7720813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lillupon/pseuds/lillupon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha misunderstands Bucky’s relationship with Steve, and now Bucky can’t stop thinking about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baseball and Inhalers

**Author's Note:**

> Do people get bored of fluffy high school AUs with skinny!Steve and smitten!Bucky? Because I sure as hell don’t. I apologize in advance for any errors I’ve failed to catch.

Bucky has a lot on his plate right now. Like the fragile state of his relationship with Lindsey after he ditched her yet _again_ to play Overwatch with Steve. He also has a psychology midterm in two days—worth twenty percent of his final mark—that he hasn’t started studying for. He hasn’t even opened the goddamn text since the semester began two months ago. And then there’s the essay on Ally roles in turning-point battles in WWII that his History teacher had assigned six weeks ago. She had said it wasn’t something that could be completed in one night. He had scoffed then, but _boy_ , is he suffering now.

He’s so stressed out he think the might actually age thirty years by the end of the week. So no, he really doesn’t have time to be dealing with Natasha right now.

But here he is anyways, typing away on his laptop, half-his brain focussed on hitting the essay word count, the other half focussed on Natasha.

“I don’t have a prom date yet,” Natasha says. She’s lying on her stomach on his bed, watching him work.

“Prom isn’t for another year.”

“Don’t most people start choosing prom dates in junior year?” Natasha asks.

“I don’t know anyone in our year who’s chosen dates.”

“Sam and Maria,” she reminds him.

“Okay, but that’s Sam and Maria. They’ve been dating since grade eight.” Bucky sighs. What was the battle that was like the Battle of Stalingrad except… Not the Battle of Stalingrad? Something Russian. He pauses to look up at his ceiling like he would find the answer written in the patterns of the stucco ceiling.

“I’ve just been hearing girls talking about dresses and who’s going in whose limo.”

He finds it hard to believe that Natasha of all people is worried about something like this. It just seems so high school and trivial, something that she wouldn’t give two shits about. And really, the only reason she’s gone so long without a relationship is because every single guy thinks she’s way too far out of their league. Killer smarts, body, and glare—it’s enough to scare any teenage boy off.

“Aw Nat, don’t worry about it. Someone will ask you,” he says. He’s not sure whom he’s going with. Realistically, he doesn’t think his relationship with Lindsey will last that long. But he’ll figure it out later.

“That’s easy for you to say. You’re going with Steve.”

Bucky’s fingers halt over his keyboard and he turns his head slowly to face Natasha. She’s smirking at him. “You mean like… As friends?”

“No, I mean as a date.” She clarifies, “Because you two are dating.”

“Who’s dating?”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “You and Steve.”

Bucky just stares. And stares. “Uh...”

“I didn’t want to rush you two, but seriously, James. When did you plan on telling me you two were together?” She’s full on grinning now. He doesn’t like that look on Natasha. It’s rare and unfamiliar on her face, and quite frankly scares him. “Not sure if you guys were trying to hide it, but just to let you know, you two were doing a shit job of it.”

“Actually, we’re not together.”

Natasha raises a brow.

“I dunno know why you thought that, but Steve and I… We ain’t dating.”

Natasha must have noticed the lack of humour in his voice, because the grin slides off her face and she looks at him blankly.

“I thought it was obvious since I’m with Lindsey and all.”

“Oh. I just thought… You two were just touchy friends. I mean, you never really treated her like a girlfriend.” Natasha actually looks embarrassed for once in her life, like she never expected to be wrong when it came to reading people. “I’ve never even seen you two kiss!” she defends herself.

“Hey, I’m a gentleman. I only do that sorta stuff when no one’s watching.”

“Yeah right, you dog.”

Bucky turns back to his laptop. He’s lost his train of thought now.

Him and _Steve?_ That’s crazy. First of all, he knows Steve better than anyone. Maybe even better than Sarah Rogers. He’s pretty sure he’d be able to tell if his friend batted for the other team. He’d be a shitty friend otherwise. Secondly, he and Steve are best friends. Not _boyfriends_. Something like that would only happen in a weird parallel universe. Fine, there are people who call Steve ‘gay boy’ just because the blond’s tiny in the way girls are: small wrists and thin shoulders, oh and long lashes… But Steve’s got a jawline that could cut diamonds. Very masculine. Either way, it’s not like his looks have anything to do with it.

Nat’s just being fuckin’ weird.

* * *

Lindsey graciously waits until after his psychology exam to break up with him. He saw it coming, so he’s not surprised. What _does_ surprise him though, is her reason for doing so.

Apparently he treats Steve better than he treats her.

He reasons that it’s because he and Steve are going into the eleventh year of their friendship. There’s no way he’s going to put a girl he’s only known for a few months before his best friend. He would have left it at that and never thought about it again, but then he remembers that Natasha thought he and Steve were dating. And so he begins to pay attention.

The affectionate little gestures he never thought twice of before? He notices them now: The way they constantly bump arms as they walk, like they’re pulled in by each other’s gravity. How he’ll drape an arm around Steve’s shoulder, pushing his nose into kitten-soft blond hair as he laughs. Playing games or doing homework pressed shoulder-to-shoulder. How Steve will fall asleep during a movie, slumped against his side.

He becomes hyper aware of Steve’s body in relation to his own. It’s to the extent that if they’re close enough, he can feel Steve _displacing air_ with every movement.

None of that means they’re _gay_ though. So what if they’re a bit touchy? And now that he thinks about it, they act like they’re handcuffed together, neither one of them found without the other close by. But that’s the nature of their relationship. It’s always been like this: just sweet, platonic loving.

Oh god, how many people think they’re like _that?_ He doesn’t want to give anyone else the wrong idea. He starts to make a conscious effort to keep his hands to himself. After years of punctuating their interactions with easy touches, it feels forced to keep his arms at his side. His whole body feels stiff.

Steve, of course, notices.

* * *

Bucky swears he’s being trying to tell Steve about what had happened. He just didn’t know how to bring it up. He couldn’t just say, _‘Natasha, possibly the best person-reader in the world, thought we were dating. Ain’t that something?’_ And it’s not like it was a big deal, anyway. It wouldn’t get in the way of their friendship, so he had just kept putting it off… and off…

He’s been wasting away an entire Saturday afternoon, drifting in and out of sleep on Steve’s bed, when the blond brings it up for it.

“You gonna tell me what’s going on, Buck?” Steve’s sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed, hunched over his sketch book. The blond doesn’t look up from his drawing.

“It’s—”

Steve cuts him off, “And don’t say it’s nothin’. I _know_.”

Bucky chuffs out a laugh. He rolls onto his back and lies spread eagle on the bed. His foot is against Steve’s thigh and he moves it so that it’s hanging off the edge of the mattress. “It’s just… Something Nat said,” he says finally. “It’s stupid. I just—I dunno.”

“What did she say?”

“She, uh, thought we were dating. Which is stupid, because you’re my best friend. And also, I’m dating Lindsey. Or at least, I was.”

Steve goes completely still for two seconds, pencil hovering over paper. No more of the scritch-scratching that had eased Bucky to sleep. Then Steve exhales and says, “Oh.”

“Fuckin’ weird, right? You. Me. _Wow_.” Bucky winces. He’s really good at words right now.

“Yeah, weird,” Steve echoes.

Steve’s voice sounds ridiculously small and Bucky pushes himself to sitting. The blond goes back to drawing then, but Bucky’s already noticed something is off. For one thing, Steve’s eyes aren’t moving, and the line of his lips are strangely stiff.

“Does it bother you?” he asks. “‘Cause it doesn’t really bother me. Just didn’t know people thought we were like that, you know? But it’s whatever. I know I’m straight.”

“It doesn’t bother me,” Steve says, and Bucky smiles. He thought for a second there that he had said something wrong. “Actually, um.”

With a practiced flick of his wrist, Steve flips his sketchbook shut. The blond blows his bangs out of his face and chuckles, quiet and uncertain.

Bucky doesn’t say anything, just waits for Steve to continue. The blond’s chewing at his lower lip, the muscles of his jaw working. There are only two places this can go. Steve will either say, _‘Actually, Buck, it bothers me a lot. I think we should reconsider our friendship.’_ It’s not a very Steve-thing to do though, so it’s more likely that the blond’s going to… Bucky stops himself right there. He doesn’t want to assume. The seconds tick by, obnoxiously loud in the quiet of the room; the minutes drag.

Steve takes a deep breath and holds it before exhaling loudly. He keeps his eyes firmly fixed on his lap as he says, “I’m gay, Buck.”

Bucky only realises now he’s been holding his breath when it leaves him in a rush. He wants to tell Steve that it’s absolutely no problem. He grins, slow and relaxed. “That’s all? Stevie, with the way you were actin’, I thought you were gonna tell me you killed a man!”

Steve huffs, but doesn’t say anything.

“Why didn’t ya tell me sooner?”

“I’m tellin’ ya now, Buck.” Steve still doesn’t look at him as he speaks, cheeks a bright red, the colour creeping all the way up to the tips of his ears. Steve blushes the same way the girls he’s flirted with blush and he wonders for a split second if his best friend ever thought about him like _that_.

As though Steve has read his mind, the blond says quickly, “But don’t worry, you’re not my type. I just… thought you should know, bein’ my best friend and all.”

And of all the things he could feel about Steve’s revelation, Bucky feels _offended_ . Because what does Steve mean, Bucky _isn’t his type?_ He’s everyone’s type!

“You look pained. Don’t worry, your chastity is safe,” Steve says dryly.

“Wasn’t worried about that! Jeez, Steve.”

Steve gives him a strained smile.

“You likin’ dudes isn’t gonna change anything between us,” he promises, then spreads his arms. “Now come ‘ere.”

Steve gives him a real smile this time, shy and watery. The blond wipes his sleeve across his eyes and then edges over on his knees, folding into his arms.

“Alright, there you go,” Bucky says. He wraps his arms around Steve’s bony shoulders, gives that back with all its knobby spines a good rubbing. “Hug it out.”

They lapse into silence like that, Steve tucked beneath his chin, fingers fisted into his shirt. The blond is trembling and Bucky’s heart aches a little at how terrified Steve must have been, telling Bucky he’s gay.

Steve pulls away first after a few minutes, flushed and sheepish.

Bucky grins and says, “So what I got out of that conversation was that I’ve been setting you up with the wrong gender this entire time.”

* * *

It’s with a bit of guilt that Bucky thinks he would never have guessed his best friend were gay if Steve hadn’t told him. The blond has never stared outright at men Bucky knows are (objectively) attractive. But now that he _knows_ , he can’t help but look at Steve looking at other guys, and he sees all the hints of the blond’s inclination towards men.

They’re subtle, quick little glances at the teenager sitting across from on the bus, or the man walking by who looks like he has a story to tell and could be on Humans of New York. They’re looks that Bucky used to pass off as an artist’s wandering eyes looking for an unconventional beauty.

He finds himself thinking about Steve’s ideal man. He’s never been able to place it. One day Steve will look at the good all-American boy with clean cut features and bulging muscles. Then the next day, a lanky skater boy with a tanned, pock-marked face but startling green eyes will catch the blond’s attention. Would Steve like someone who could talk enough to fill his silences, or someone he could draw quietly with? Is intelligence more important than humour?

Admittedly, Bucky’s been real fucking obnoxious about trying to figure out the kind of guys Steve goes for. Whenever his best friend so much as _looks_ at another guy, he’ll waggle his eyebrows and ask, “That your type, Stevie? I saw the way you were lookin’ at him.” To which Steve will reply in a variation of, “Buck, I looked at him for like, two seconds while I was orderin’ our damn food.” Eye rolls and obvious exasperation included.

But sometimes, to his horror, his thoughts will drift beyond that. He’ll think about Steve sliding into bed with another boy. Steve with his masculine jaw and feminine lashes, curling those long artist fingers around someone’s length, stroking long and languid. He imagines a shadowed face kissing down the prominent bumps of Steve’s spine or dragging lips down the blond’s concave chest and tiny waist; Steve’s body beneath a larger one, hips aligned and rolling against each other. Bucky has to forcefully pull himself away from his imagination every time, mouth dry and chest a little tight (though he doesn’t stop to think about what that might mean).

The first time it happened, he couldn’t look Steve in the eyes for an entire day. All he could see was the image of his best friend’s head thrown back in pleasure, eyes squeezed shut, brows furrowed and lips an ‘o’ of pleasure, superimposed over the concerned look on Steve’s face when Bucky was silent and with red cheeks. After Steve called him out on his strange behaviour, Bucky’s been more careful to act normal. There’s no way he could explain that he had been picturing Steve naked in bed with another man.

* * *

Steve, swinging a baseball bat, leads the procession of two onto the school baseball diamond. Bucky and Nat trail behind him, wearing worn baseball gloves their P.E. teacher allowed them to use.

Nat bumps into him. ”Hey, didn’t I get you that for your birthday?” she asks, tipping her chin at Steve.

Steve’s wearing a baseball jersey that used to belong to Bucky, but somehow found its way into the blond’s laundry and then wardrobe. The jersey’s too big, hanging loose off his shoulders and reaching to mid-thigh. It’s too much fabric and not enough Steve. His shorts on the other hand, are a bit too short, just two inches of it visible beneath his shirt.

Bucky thinks it’s endearing, but he’d never say it outloud. He shrugs in response to Nat’s question. “He’s a Harvey fan.”

“So are you. That’s why I spent half my paycheck buying it for you.” Nat doesn’t sound upset though, so Bucky can’t bring himself to feel bad about it.

“Yeah, but Steve’s a _real_ Harvey fan.”

“That’s… cute,” Nat says, and Bucky can tell from her tone that she isn’t referring to Steve idolising Harvey.

“Nat. Don’t,” he says warningly.

Natasha smiles and raises both her hands in acquiescence.

“You two gonna stand around and chat all day, or are we gonna play?” Steve calls from the batting box.

Nat jogs outfield while Bucky steps onto the pitching mound. “Ready when you are,” Bucky says, giving the ball a few tosses into the air.

“I’m ready, Buck!” Steve shouts back, the exact moment his oversized helmet slips down his head to cover his eyes.

Bucky grins when he hears his best friend curse and push it back into place.

“Okay, _now_ I’m ready.”

Bucky coils up his body and throws, a straight ball, not too fast. It still takes Steve three tries before he’s able to hit it. The ball doesn’t get very far but he can hear the surprised ‘ _Oh!’_ the blond makes.

“Are you gonna run or what, Steve?” Bucky calls and Steve says right back, “I’m getting on it, you jerk!”

Steve flings the bat away and runs for first base, hand on head to keep his helmet in place. Bucky jogs over to where the ball is. He scoops it up and gives it a few tosses into the air before turning back to Steve.

It takes the blond a long time and too much effort to close the short distance between plates. If it were anyone else, they would use the excuse of arrhythmia, scoliosis, and asthma to sit out of exercise. Steve on the other hand, actually _begged_ his doctor to be given permission to play baseball with the rest of the class in P.E.

Bucky’s no expert, but he thinks Steve’s doctor is one hell of a dumbass to allow it. Even if exercise is good for heart health and helps to strengthen the breathing muscles.

Steve makes it to first base, red from exertion. He’s wheezing, bracing his hands on his knees. Bucky’s immediately at his best friend’s side, rubbing Steve’s back and gently cooing, “You’re gonna be okay, Stevie. That was a great hit.” He wants to tell Steve maybe they should just call it a day, because those asthmatic death rattles still frighten him every time, but they’d only started less than five minutes ago.

It kinda makes him feel shitty about himself. He loves baseball as much as the next guy. He watches all the games of his favourite team, currently the Mets, on TV and in stadium with Steve when he can. He’ll verbally defend his favourite players to his death. But he _still_ doesn’t like baseball nearly as much as Steve, who’s memorised entire rosters and games, play by play, of several teams over the years. It’s unfair that blond is often unfit to play his favourite game. God should have made Steve perfect, both inside and out; shouldn’t have stopped halfway so that the blond set the standard for “good” but flopped physically, in terms of health.

“I’m okay now, Buck.” Steve still sounds winded, but he straightens and heads back to home plate. He picks up the bat and gives it a few experimental swings. “Can you pitch again?”

Bucky pitches. Steve misses two-thirds of the time and runs as fast as his body will allow the other third of the time. Sometimes the ball will roll right up to Bucky’s feet, and he’ll kick it in Nat’s direction just to give her something to do.

The more they play, the more Steve gets frustrated with himself. The blond curses more frequently, kicks at the bases before meticulously putting them back in place. He’s got a scowl etched on his face that seems like it’ll never go away.

“Steve, maybe we should rotate,” Nat suggests gently when the blond says he needs another minute of rest.

Steve narrows his eyes, recognising worry when he sees it, though the force of the glare is diminished due to flushed cheeks and an adorable pout—

Adorable?

Where did that come from?

Bucky blinks a few times and pushes the thought away. Well, Steve has his cute moments. Doesn’t take a gay man to see that. “Yeah, let’s do that,” Bucky says. “I’m gettin’ pretty bored of pitching and Nat’s just been standing around uselessly.”

Steve deflates. “Oh, right. Sorry.”

“I call batting!” Bucky says, sprinting for the batting box as soon as he sees Natasha doing the same thing in the corner of his eyes. He beats her by a foot, leaving Nat to pitch, and Steve to stand glumly outfield.

Oh god. He actually feels _bad_ about seconding Nat’s suggestion to rotate. Steve’s been batting the entire time. It’s rare for the blond to be selfish like that and Bucky wants to indulge his best friend when he can. Based on the way Nat glances at Steve, he’s guessing she feels the same.

They toss the ball around a few times before Bucky can’t stand Steve moping around and he announces he’s hungry.

“You played pretty well today, Steve. You’ve definitely improved,” Nat says as they make their way back indoors.

“You think so?” Steve smiles, swinging the bat at his side.

Bucky agrees, “Yeah, I’d want you on my team.”

“Oh, you two are full of it.”

They drop off the equipment in the storage room and make their way to the changing rooms. Steve gathers his clothes from his locker and makes his way to the bathroom stall.

“You can change here, you know. It’s just us,” Bucky says, dialing in his locker combination.

Steve pauses. “Yeah, I know, but—”

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. Remember when we used to take baths together?”

The redness of Steve’s cheeks hasn’t quite faded yet, but Bucky swears the flush deepens.

“We were _five_ ,” Steve says. “Just because you’ve seen it all before, doesn’t mean…”

Bucky doesn’t know what comes over him then. It’s just that he and Steve are alone and there's a part of him that, for some crazy reason, wants to give the blond something to look at. He reaches a hand behind him to grab the back of his shirt and pulls it overhead in a way he _knows_ drives girls wild, just slow enough that every inch of his abs revealed would be teasing. He pulls his shirt free and gives his head a shake, and _oh_ —

Steve’s staring at him, blue eyes wide and cheeks rosy and Bucky's willing to bet his best friend is as affected as any girl. His heart’s somewhere up in his throat from the thought that Steve finds him attractive. It shouldn't mean as much as it does. He knows he’s hot stuff and he’s had a steady stream of dates to prove it. But it's different with Steve, even more so since he’s never seen the blond check out another man so blatantly.

And that's what Steve's doing right now, isn't it? Steve’s openly ogling him, lips parted and all. A thrill shivers down Bucky’s spine and makes his toes curl. The moment he steps forward, Steve yanks his gaze away, eyes dropping to the floor.

“I-um. I’m gonna change,” Steve stammers and then hurries to the stall, slamming the door shut behind him.

Bucky remains where he is, looking thoughtfully at the stall Steve went into. His ears prick at the sound of clothes rustling. He thinks of Steve tugging off his shirt, the way those bony elbows would catch in the sleeves; those too-small shorts around an even smaller waist, and how the blond would push them down his hips and slim thighs...

Bucky makes a distressed noise in the back of his throat and turns away.

* * *

Steve and Bucky spend their Thursday evenings taking a drawing class at their local community centre.

Jackson is their current nude model, and the youngest yet at about twenty years of age. There aren’t many people Bucky genuinely dislikes, but he thinks that Jackson could be one of them. The model’s got a face made for punching: thin lips, slanted brows, a pointed face, an annoying jumble of red hair that flops around when he turns his head. Not particularly attractive in Bucky’s opinion.

Jackson saunters up to the platform in the centre of the room, waving at Steve when he passes them by. The redhead lets the white robe slip from his shoulders and fall to his feet. Bucky rolls his eyes when Jackson rolls his shoulders, showing off the flex of his back muscles.

Steve observes the redhead with a rapt attention, brows furrowed in concentration and lips turned down in a stern line. The blond’s cheeks are flushed and Bucky doesn’t blame him. Jackson stands with one foot on the stool, an elbow braced on his raised knee. His limp cock is on full display. And of all the people the redhead could be facing, it just _had_ to be Steve.

It’s a come-on if Bucky’s ever seen one.

Bucky’s never really taken these classes seriously; he’s just here to keep his best friend company. With Jackson as their model, his sketches are only one step above stickmen.

He doesn’t really know what to make of the annoyance curling in his gut. Steve’s looking at Jackson the way he looked at Bucky in the locker room all those days ago. He reasons that it’s because his best friend takes drawing seriously. And even if the intense gaze could be attributed to attraction, it’s not really any of his business.

Feeling vindictive, Bucky finishes off his drawing of Jackson with a micropenis that has him laughing under his breath.

Steve glances over at his work. “You’re a child, Buck,” he says, unimpressed.

After an hour and a half, the instructor says that class is over and that anyone is welcome to discuss their work. Jackson stretches and throws on his robe, then makes his way towards them. The redhead plants himself right between him and Steve, his back to Bucky.

Jackson bends over the table, arms folded. “I don’t actually look like that, Steve. You made me look better than I actually am.”

Bucky mimes casting a fishing rod. ‘ _Fishing for compliments_ ,’ he mouths, when he catches his best friend’s eye.

Steve ignores Bucky. “I just draw what I see.”

“You’re amazing, Steve. I’ve modeled for a lot of classes but I’ve never seen anyone draw quite like you. Your art’s going to be in museums one day, I just know it.”

Maybe it’s because the compliment came from someone who wasn’t a close friend or an art teacher, but Steve goes a bright red. The blond hunches over, arms curling protectively around his drawing. He smiles uncertainly up at Jackson, mumbles a “thank you” and Bucky’s trying to remember the last time Steve acted embarrassed like that when Bucky complimented him. Too damn long, that’s for sure. Maybe it’s because Bucky’s said it so often that his best friend had become immune to it.

“Aw, hey, whatcha acting all shy for, Steve?”

 _Steve this, Steve that_ . There’s only been three sessions, but Bucky’s starting to tire of the way _Steve_ sounds when Jackson says it. What’s so good about the guy anyways, that Steve actually makes an effort to keep the conversation going instead of letting it fizzle out like usual? Is it because the blond’s so deprived of attention that he latches on to whatever he can get, like a sunflower chasing the sun? Jackson isn’t even that funny, but his best friend is laughing anyways. Steve doesn’t even move away when the redhead leans into him and the distance between them becomes too close to be innocent. Bucky can’t stand it because…

Steve is his best friend?

Yeah, he’s just looking out for his pal. The blond doesn’t have any relationship experience, might not know what he’s getting himself into. Steve’s the kind to devote the entirety of himself to his partner, and Jackson seems like the kind of guy who’d take advantage of that (God, Jackson is just so _greasy_ ). Jackson wouldn’t know all of Steve’s ailments or allergies, and the blond might get sent to the hospital because the asshole was careless.

Bucky on the other hand, has memorised Steve’s medical history, can recite all of the blond’s allergies the same way he rattles off his phone number. Jackson wouldn’t know what to do if Steve ever had an asthma attack, but Bucky would. So really, he’s better than Jackson in every way. More attractive too, if he says so himself. Steve wouldn’t leave him for Jackson. That’d… that’d be a _downgrade_.

Except that’s not what this is all about, is it? The weight in the pit of his stomach isn’t the kind of jealousy you feel when you’re not getting any attention or you’re in danger of losing the title of ‘best friend’ to some chump. It’s the kind of jealousy you feel when you see the person you’re head-over-heels for getting close to someone that’s not _you_.

“Oh fuck,” Bucky breathes.

Jackson turns around to face him. “What?”

Steve peeks at him from over Jackson’s shoulder. “You okay there, Buck?”

Bucky just looks at Steve with wide eyes. His heart’s doing odd little flips in his chest. He likes Steve. At least, he thinks he does. It had never occurred to him until Steve told him he was gay.

Does that make him gay? No—he’s felt real attraction to his past girlfriends. But he can imagine doing all those things he did with them with _Steve_ . Easily, too. Because he realises then that Steve is _pretty_ , with his long lashes and clear blue eyes and milky skin. He knows Steve’s all hard planes and angles where girls are soft, and… and it gets him hot.

“No need to project your insecurities onto me, James,” Jackson says, pulling Bucky out of his thoughts. The redhead’s eyeing the tiny penis Bucky drew for him.

Steve snorts in laughter, quickly hiding his amusement behind a fist. Jackson swings to face the blond, stupid tumble of hair flopping, grinning wide.

Bucky shamelessly steals Steve’s line. “I just draw what I see.”

Jackson scowls at him, then turns back to Steve. “Anyway I was wondering... Maybe you’d like to go out sometime? For food or coffee, whichever.”

Steve blinks a few times, like he hasn’t quite understood the question. And then Bucky actually sees realisation break over the blond’s face, and how it turns into a smile of shy pleasure. “Oh, I-uh, sure. Yeah.”

“Sweet. What’s your number?” Jackson asks, and Steve recites his digits.

Bucky watches their exchange, keeping his mouth shut so he doesn’t say something he’ll regret and Steve will get mad at him for. People always ask to hangout without actually intending to go through with it. This might be the same.

* * *

Bucky and Nat are in the art wing of their high school, where Steve’s locker is located. They’re already starting to eat their lunch, backs to the wall of lockers when Steve joins them, looking pale.

“What’s with the face?” Bucky asks through a mouthful of ham and cheese sandwich, spraying crumbs everywhere.

Natasha wrinkles her nose. “You’re disgusting, James.”

Bucky grins at her and makes a big show of chewing with his mouth open. He picks up the crumbs that hand landed on his shirt and eats them.

“Guys,” Steve says, sitting down cross-legged in front of them. He’s clutching his phone to his chest. “Jackson asked me out on a date. What do I do?”

Bucky stops chewing. It feels like his food has turned into stone on his tongue and he swallows it down hard.

“Who the hell is Jackson?” Natasha demands. “How come you’ve never told me about him?”

“A total sleaze,” Bucky answers.

Steve gives Bucky a stern glare. “He’s a model for the art class Bucky and I are taking at the community centre.”

“A model? _Well then_ ,” Natasha says teasingly. “You’re going aren’t you?”

“Yeah. I think so. I should, right?”

“If he’s hot and you’re interested, yes. Yes, you should,” Natasha says.

Bucky makes a displeased noise. “Jackson seems kinda seedy. I mean, he’s in fuckin’ college. Why would he go after someone in high school—”

“Oh! An older man!” Natasha cuts in coyly.

“He probably couldn’t get anyone his age,” Bucky finishes.

Steve narrows his eyes. “What are you tryna say, Buck? That I’m a last resort?”

“What? No! That is _not_ what I meant,” Bucky says, waving his hands. “You’re not anyone’s last resort. You’re amazin’. Best guy I know. It’s just that everyone in this school has their heads too far up their asses to see it.”

“Okay, okay. I get it.” Steve laughs. “I was only kidding. I’m used to it anyways.”

“ _Steve_.” There’s that self-deprecating humour again, said so off-handedly that it makes Bucky’s heart twist. “I’m just sayin’ he might try to use you or something. ‘Cause, you know. You’re younger. Less experienced.”

“Won’t happen,” Steve says confidently. “I can take care of myself.”

“Okay, so it’s decided! Text him!” Natasha prods Steve.

Steve grins as he does so, eyes downcast on his phone and lower lip caught between his teeth. Bucky likes that look. Just not when it’s meant for someone else.

Steve’s about to put his phone away with it pings in notification. Natasha is immediately at the blond’s side, hovering over his shoulder. She laughs reading the text and throws an arm around Steve, pulling him into a headlock.

“What’s it say?” Bucky asks, cursing his curiosity.

“Steve’s got his first date,” Natasha sings.

“Shut up, Nat!” Steve hisses, looking around at the other students. No one is paying attention to them. The blond turns back to them, looking worried. “Tomorrow is so _soon_ though.”

“Why? You got plans?” Natasha asks. “Don’t lie. I know you’re just going to sit around and draw James all day.”

Bucky looks up from his food at the mention of his name. Now _there’s_ an idea.

“Aw, piss off, Nat,” Steve says good-naturedly, shoving her away. “It’s just, I dunno. It doesn’t really give me any time to prepare.”

“Prepare for what? You just have to show up,” Natasha says.

“I mean, what am I supposed to talk about?”

Natasha shrugs. “Talk about your art. Ask him questions about his hobbies. It’s not that hard.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m bad at conversations.”

“You’re fine, so don’t you dare think about flaking out on him,” Natasha warns.

Bucky silently hopes Steve does. He’s a horrible friend.

“I won’t. I already said I was free for tomorrow.” Steve goes quiet. He opens up his lunch box and starts munching on carrots. And then he perks up, “You two will come with me, right?”

Bucky says, “What?” just as Natasha says, “Steve, no.”

But Steve’s excited now. He turns to Bucky and says, “You’re always dragging me around on double dates. We could make this a double date.”

“Because I was tryna set you up,” Bucky says. “This is different. You already have a date.”

“Yeah, so it’ll be more fun this time,” Steve insists. “I’ll feel a lot better if you two are around.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Natasha says, frowning a little. “Jackson specifically asked _you_ out. I don’t think he would appreciate you dragging us along.”

“I’ll ask him.” Steve reaches into his pocket, but Bucky stops him with a hand on his arm.

“Seriously, Steve. You’ll be fine.” Bucky isn’t much interested in seeing Steve get cozy with another guy. “You’ve already seen him naked, and that’s the hard part.”

Natasha claps with glee. “Oh my _god_. When did that happen?”

“He’s a nude model. Don’t get any ideas, Nat,” Steve huffs. He looks at them with big, imploring eyes. “Please? You guys have gotta help me. I’m hopeless. I’m gonna say two sentences and he’s gonna fall asleep.”

Bucky stifles a laugh, but not quickly enough to be whacked over the head by Natasha. He fluffs his hair back into place. “You don’t have to try to impress anyone, Steve. You’re fine the way you are. If Jackson can’t see that, that’s his problem and he doesn’t deserve you,” he says. “Plenty of better guys out there.”

Steve ducks his head at those words. Bucky can feel Natasha’s eyes on him and he bites back the urge to ask her what the hell she’s looking at. It’s not like he’s confessing his love or anything. He’s just trying to be supportive.

“Um, thanks, Buck,” Steve says. “But does that mean you’ll come?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. ‘No’ isn’t in his dictionary when it comes to Steve, and the blond knows it. “Yeah, you lil’ punk. It means I’ll help your sorry ass.”

* * *

They end up at a sketchy diner that serves greasy, all-day breakfast for 2.99. It’s far from the fanciest place in town. The wooden tables are worn, and there are holes in the cushioned seats. Graffitied walls with declarations of love and hate add to the hipster vibe of the place. It’s almost impossible to catch a waiter’s attention, and you often have to go up to the counter to order. But at least the food here won’t send Steve into anaphylactic shock.

Bucky and Nat squeeze into one side of the booth. Steve sits across from them, facing the door so he can see Jackson come in.

Bucky kind of wants Jackson to not show up. As soon as he thinks that, Steve straightens in his seat and waves.

“Jackson, hi,” Steve says, sounding breathless and excited and in a way Bucky’s never heard before,

“Hey, Steve. Hope I didn’t make you wait long.” Jackson says, sliding in next to the blond. He gives Bucky a tight-lipped smile

Bucky smirks back triumphantly and thinks, _‘Didn’t think you’d see me again did ya, you bastard? Think again.’_

Steve shakes his head. “Jackson, this is Natasha. She’s, uh…”

“Bucky’s girlfriend,” Nat says smoothly.

It doesn’t escape Bucky’s notice that Jackson visibly relaxes at that, the line of his shoulders easing.

“Lucky guy,” Jackson says. He looks around at the restaurant. “So, this is an interesting place for a first date.”

Steve flushes. “Yeah, sorry about that. I have a lot of allergies, but this place isn’t a problem.”

“Not like I was here for the food, anyways.” Jackson shrugs and flips open the menu. “Plus everyone loves bacon and bread.”

A bored looking waiter comes by to take their orders; Bucky gets his usual poached eggs with sausage links and toast.

“So, Steve,” Jackson starts. “You thinking about making a living out of art? I think you could do it.”

“I, uh, yeah. That’s the goal. I’d like to be a comic book illustrator.”

“That’s neat. You working on anything on right now?” Jackson has one elbow on the table, chin on the heel of his hand. He doesn’t even make an effort to include Bucky and Natasha into conversation, and Bucky can’t really blame him. The redhead’s just trying to make the best of an unideal situation.

“I am, actually. It’s about…”

Steve slips into his element, animatedly explaining the plot of _Captain America_ with his hands. It turns out that Bucky’s not the only one who can watch the blond talk forever.

Bucky glares at the table. Steve doesn’t need him here. He’s getting along just fine with Jackson. Neither of them even look at the food when it’s set down in front of them.

“...I based Cap’s best friend on Bucky and the Black Widow on Nat...” Steve looks at Bucky and Nat as he says that, trying to draw them into conversation, but Jackson deflects it easily.

“And, let me guess, Captain America is based off you.”

Steve blushes. ”He’s someone I aspire to be,” the blond corrects.

There isn’t anything _wrong_ with Jackson. Admittedly, the redhead’s attractive enough. He makes appropriately distressed noises when Steve tells him Captain America goes down with the Valkyrie, asks questions whenever there’s a pause. He doesn’t seem to secretly be a psychopath looking for pure, unsuspecting boys like Steve to lure into his sex dungeon.

Bucky looks up when someone nudges his calf beneath the table. Steve’s looking at him with concern, brows raised, and Bucky shakes his head.

This is stupid. _He’s_ being stupid.

Steve finally has a date with someone who’s genuinely interested in him. Bucky would be happy for Steve, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s also a tiny bit into his best friend.

He’s so caught up in his thoughts that he jump a little when Natasha sets a hand on his arm.

“James and I are going to order some coffee. You two want anything?” Natasha asks.

“I’m good,” Jackson replies. “Steve?”

“I’m okay, too.”

With that, Natasha hauls him out of the booth. They turn the corner and out of sight, stopping a little ways past the hostess’ counter.

Bucky shakes Natasha’s hand off and rubs at his arm. “What the hell was that for?” He glares at her.

“Really, James? Do you have any idea how you’re acting right now?”

Bucky remains grudgingly silent.

Natasha answers for him, “Jackson seems like a decent guy. You’re being a complete ass to both him _and_ Steve.”

“I didn’t even say anything,” he protests.

“You glare at him every two seconds,” Natasha shoots back. “You don’t need to say anything to make it obvious you hate his guts.”

“I don’t hate him.”

“But you hate that Steve’s paying attention to a guy other than you for the first time in his life.” She looks at him, letting her words sink in before adding gently, “Don’t tell me you don’t know why you’re being petty.”

Bucky meekly looks at his toes.

“If you’re not sure what you want, don’t ruin this for Steve.”

Natasha’s wasting her breath telling him not to get in the way of Steve’s happiness. He knows his place. It’s at Steve’s side—as his best friend. Because Bucky isn’t Steve’s type. Because he’s had a damn decade to sort out his feelings, and he only realised it just as Jackson swooped in.

Natasha’s eyes go soft. “But if you ever figure it out… I’m sure Steve wants whatever you do.”

Bucky eyes snap up at that. “What? What do you mean by that?” His heart is steadily making its way up his throat at the implications of Natasha’s words and he has to push it down. He doesn’t want to let himself hope.

Natasha tips her head and gives an indulgent little smile.

“ _Nat_. Fuckin’ tell me,” he whispers angrily, looking over his shoulder in case Steve came to join them.

“Your grades are shit, but I know you’re smart enough to figure it out yourself.”

* * *

Allowing kids to pick their own teams in gym has to be one of the most stupid and sadistic ideas out there. Particularly for Steve, who gets chosen last nine out of ten times. Luckily, their P.E. teacher chooses Bucky and Jim to be captains of opposing teams.

Bucky stands before the class with his arms crossed over his chest and hip cocked to one side. “Steve, you’re with me.”

Steve makes his way over to stand beside him. “I wasn’t sure you’d want me on your team.”

Bucky glances at him before returning his attention up front. He says with a grin, “There’s no one else I’d rather have on my side.”

“I won’t let you down, Buck.”

“Take it easy, Steve. I don’t want you killin’ yourself out there. Did you bring your inhaler?”

“Won’t need it,” the blond says confidently. “Been working on my cardio and breathing.”

Bucky sighs. He picks Brock to be their next team member, then says to Steve, “So you didn’t bring it.”

“It’s in my gym locker.”

“Go get it. Just in case.”

Steve pretends not to hear him and Bucky lets it drop before the blond accuses him of being a helicopter mom.

Bucky’s team is first on offensive. Steve’s bouncing up and down on his feet, thrumming with a nervous energy. They’ve been practising a lot lately, and he knows the blond wants to prove to his classmates that he’s not just some frail, sickly boy.  

“You bat first,” Bucky says, pushing Steve towards the batter’s box while he joins the rest of his team behind the chainlink fence.

Practising has paid off, and Steve hits the ball with a loud _crack!_ The blond throws the bat away and runs for first base, hand on helmet. The sight of it makes Bucky smile every damn time.

Steve makes it to first base, swerving just in time to avoid being tagged out. He’s red-faced and his shoulders are rising and falling in expansive motions. Otherwise, he doesn’t seem to be handling it too badly. Looks like the exercising his family doctor prescribed was helping afterall. That doesn’t stop Bucky from worrying, though. Especially with Sam next to bat. Sam plays on their school’s baseball team and will likely hit far enough to give Steve enough time to get to third base. Bucky hopes Sam is having an off-day, but the other isn’t, sending the ball far outfield.

Steve sprints, thin arms pumping, over-sized jersey billowing behind him. The blond makes it to second base, and Bucky hopes that it’ll end there, but Sam’s still running.

“Keep running, Rogers! Get to third base!” Brock shouts into cupped hands. He lets his hands drop and growls under his breath. “Seriously, Rogers is so fucking _slow_.”

Bucky stands up taller and narrows his eyes at Brock. “Give the kid a fuckin’ break, dude. He’s got asthma, scoliosis, arrhythmia—”

“Shut the fuck up, Barnes. If it’s that bad, he shouldn’t be playing.”

“This is gym class, not the goddamn MLB,” Bucky snarls. “It’s not about winning.” He turns his attention back to the field.

Steve, by some miracle, makes it to third base without falling over. The blond bends over, hand on knees and head lolling between his shoulders.

“Steve?” Bucky calls out uncertainly.

The next batter is already up, swinging the bat across his body in wide arcs. Bucky curses. Can’t anyone see Steve needs a bit more time to rest?

“Steve? Hey...” he calls again, panic escalating in his throat. He sees Steve’s hand go to his chest and massage there. And then the blond’s fingers go to his pockets, like he’s fumbling for an inhaler that isn’t there. “Hey! Stop the game!” Bucky shouts, sprinting to his best friend’s side.

He slides on his knees to crouch beside Steve. This close, he can hear every inhale and exhale, accompanied by a whistling sound from deep inside the blond’s chest. “Jesus Christ, Stevie? Hey, I’m right here, you stay with me.” Bucky swallows; he’s shaking too. It’s been a long time since he’s seen Steve have an attack. “Where’s your inhaler? Gym lockers?”

Steve manages a nod.

Bucky curses, already standing up. “Focus on your breathing. I’ll be right back,” he says, and then he’s tearing through the field, crashing through the double doors with a slam.

He ignores the teacher that yells at him to slow down, swinging around a corner. He almost loses his balance and catches himself on the walls just in time. Grabbing Steve’s inhaler from his locker, he sprints back to the field, arms pumping, feet barely skimming the ground.

He pushes the inhaler into Steve’s hand, gently guiding it to the blond’s mouth. Steve closes his lips around the mouthpiece and inhales slowly.

“There ya go, Stevie…“ Bucky pants. His heart’s pounding so hard in his chest he’s scared that he’s going to get an attack, too. “That’s it. You’re gonna be okay.” He places a hand on Steve’s back and rubs soothing circles into it.

Steve holds his breath, counting the seconds in his head, before exhaling. The blond’s muscles release from a combination of relief and the adrenaline crash, and he sags against Bucky, bony shoulders digging in.

“I got you, Steve.” Bucky says again, “I got you.”

Steve looks up at him and smiles weakly. Those clear blue eyes are a bit hazy. Steve looks flushed and gorgeous with wind-whipped hair. Bucky swallows roughly, because now is _not_ the fucking time.

“That was real fast, Buck. You must have broken records running to the changing rooms and back,” Steve mumbles. His voice is shot.

The noise that escapes Bucky is a combination of a moan and a laugh. “You punk! You scared me so fuckin’ bad.”

“Nothin’ you’ve never seen before,” Steve says lightly.

“That supposed to make me feel better? It still scares the life outta me every time.”

Steve reaches up to press his finger against the furrow of Bucky’s brows, trying to smooth it out and Bucky’s heart trips in his chest. “I’m okay now.” Steve lets his hand drop, fingertip ghosting down the slope of Bucky’s nose before falling into his lap.

Bucky covers up his his sudden shyness with annoyance. “Jesus, Steve, it wouldn’t hurt you to act a little more concerned about your health.”

“That’s what you’re here for.”

Bucky huffs, dropping his forehead to rest on the top of Steve’s head. He can feel unsteady puffs of breath against his chin. If Steve just tilted his head up, and if he dipped his chin down, their lips could brush against each other. It would be so easy… Their noses bump and there’s maybe an inch and a half of space between their lips.

Was Natasha right?

Or have they both horribly misread this?

But Steve’s peering at him from beneath twin fans of lashes, and how else is he supposed to interpret that? His hand slides down to the blond’s lower back.

“You okay there, Steve?” their teacher interrupts.

Bucky all but recoils from Steve, eyes wide. Oh god. He almost did that. He almost fucking kissed Steve in front the entire damn class.

It’s no damn wonder Natasha thought he was gay.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Steve says.

“Bucky, can you help Steve to the nurse’s office?”

Bucky wets his lips and nods. “Okay, up you get.” He throws Steve’s arm over his shoulders and hauls him up to standing, taking most of the blond’s weight. Steve doesn’t complain for once.

* * *

Steve lies on a bed in the nurse’s office and Bucky sits on a stool at his side. The blond keeps insisting he doesn’t need to rest. Every time he sits up, Bucky pushes him back down with a hand on his chest.

“You can go, Buck. I don’t need you to babysit me.”

Bucky bites back the, _‘You just proved five minutes ago that you_ do _need a babysitter.’_ Instead, he shrugs. “It’s just P.E. I don’t really care.”

“You can’t just use me as an excuse to skip class,” Steve says with a fond exasperation.

“Hey, can’t I be worried about my best guy?”

“You’re just lazy.”

Bucky shrugs. They lapse into silence after that. Steve lies with his arms folded beneath his head, and Bucky can’t stop staring. He wants to go back to that moment they shared on the field.

Gathering up the wisps of his courage, he asks, “You ever kissed a guy, Stevie?”

Steve shakes his head.

“Really?” Something in Bucky’s chest eases at the admission.

“Why do you sound so surprised? People aren’t exactly waiting in line to get fresh with me,” Steve says dryly.

“I dunno. I just thought maybe you and Jackson would have?”

“Well, we didn’t.”

“Do you wanna?” Bucky presses, then quickly corrects himself, “I mean, kiss another guy. Not just Jackson.”

“Well, _yeah_. Eventually. Jeez, Buck. I’m not dead. I have—” Steve flushes then, and glares at Bucky. “Why are you asking me this?”

Bucky’s mouth is completely dry. In contrast, his palms are embarrassingly sweaty and he wipes them on his shorts. Before his courage can leave him, he asks, “Can I kiss you?”

Steve pushes himself to seated, eyes round and that adorable pink spreading over his cheeks. “W-what? Why?”

 _‘Because you’re gorgeous and talented and a genuinely good person.’_ Instead, Bucky grins, a slow and sly upward curl of his lips. “Why do you think anyone asks that question, Stevie?”

The pink of Steve’s skin turns deep red. To his surprise, the shocked look on Steve’s face contorts into anger, “Seriously, Buck. Don’t joke around like that.”

“I’m not joking. I’m serious.”

“Look, if you’re curious, go watch gay porn or something. Ask a random guy.”

Bucky makes a face. “I don’t want to kiss a random guy. I want to kiss you.”

“Buck… W-what are you saying?” Steve sounds halfway between scared and hopeful.

“I might not be as straight as I thought,” Bucky says.

“Buck, don’t,” Steve says, voice unsteady. The bond presses up against the wall and pulls his knees in. “You’re being really unfair right now. Did Nat tell you?”

Bucky moves to sit on the edge of the bed. He stays where he is when Steve curls further into himself. “Did Nat tell me what?” he asks softly.

“That, um. T-that—” Steve huffs, a fire-engine red. He doesn’t finish his sentence, instead glaring miserably at Bucky.

Bucky chuckles. He wets his lips and takes a deep breath. “I like you, Stevie.”

Steve makes a pathetic little noise in the back of his throat.

Encouraged, Bucky continues, “I’m serious, Steve. I really do like you. It just took me one hell of a long time to figure it out. But you’re my best friend and I like havin’ you around, you know? I like laughin’ with you and I like makin’ you laugh. And I wanna be close to you. Like all the time. So if you’re gonna like a guy, why not give me a try? I’d treat you right.” Oh god, he’s fucking blabbing, but as he says those words out loud, he realises how true they are. They already have a friendship strong enough to persist decades. A little kissing here and there, or maybe something more… Well, that’d just make things perfect.

Steve looks as red as he feels, and Bucky fears they’ll combust simultaneously and set the entire school on fire.

Bucky’s mouth works a nervous line as Steve stares at him. He can’t stand the silence. He wishes Steve would say something. He’s starting to feel like a damn fool. “I don’t wanna force you, Stevie,” he says quickly. “I know I’m not your type.”

And of all things, Steve says, “You’re everyone’s type.”

“But not yours?” Bucky says with a wry twist of his lips.

Steve chuckles, shaking his head. “I’m no saint, Buck. I can tell a lie here and there.”

Oh.

_Oh._

Bucky swallows his heart that had somehow found its way into his throat. “Steve, are you… Are you—”

“I’m tellin’ ya I like you too, Buck,” Steve says with a roll of his eyes. “You can kiss me now.”

Bucky crawls over to Steve. He plants a hand at Steve’s side, his other hand moving to cup the blond’s jaw. He smooths his thumb over the blond’s cheek, nothing the sharpness of his cheekbones and the baby-softness of his skin. This close, he can count every single one of Steve’s lashes; can see the way darkened eyes flit like they’re trying to take in every single inch of Bucky’s face.

He’s not sure who moved first, but his eyelids are fluttering closed and he’s dipping his chin down just as Steve’s tipping his chin up. Their mouths press together in a hot sear and Bucky makes a tiny, needy sound against Steve’s lips.

Steve’s fingers tangle into his hair, tilting his head so their lips can slot together and their tongues can meet shyly. Bucky’s entire body thrums. It feels like there’s a balloon in his chest, with the way it’s expanding. A slow smile overcomes him. He can feel the same curling of Steve’s lips, and then they’re grinning against each other’s mouths more than anything.

He pulls away and rests his forehead against Steve’s. The blond’s breathing hard.

“You aren’t gonna have another attack, are you?” Bucky asks cheekily, brow raised. Steve’s lips are kiss-reddened and slick and he has to resist the urge to lean back in.

“Oh, get over yourself,” Steve huffs fondly. ”You’re not _that_ good at kissing.”

Bucky laughs, and can’t help but sneak another kiss. “You won’t be able to get rid of me now. You know that, right?”

“I put up with you for—what? Eleven years? I could do a few more,” Steve shoots back.

Bucky doesn’t want to get ahead of himself, but he hopes that by a ‘few more’, Steve means at least another decade. He shifts to nose against Steve’s throat, presses yet another kiss against the junction of the blond’s neck. Steve’s humming contentedly and he can’t stop smiling. His cheeks are in danger of falling off.

School’s about to get a lot more fun.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feedback/concrit is appreciated.
> 
> [My Tumblr!](http://lillupon.tumblr.com/)


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